


Strange Agonies

by havisham



Category: Carmilla - J. Sheridan Le Fanu
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Dubious Morality, F/F, Misses Clause Challenge, Or Is It?, Romantic Friendship, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-21
Updated: 2013-12-21
Packaged: 2018-01-05 08:57:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1092027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/havisham/pseuds/havisham
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is the story of Laura and her lazy girlfriend; how they met, how they fell in love, and how one of them was revealed to be a centuries-old vampire countess with a burning fondness for anagrams of her own name.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Strange Agonies

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hellzabeth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hellzabeth/gifts).



It was an ugly night in November, the night Laura’s mother died. Rain, mixed with snow and turned to ice, pelted hard against the roof of the car. Outside, wind howled through the pine trees, cold enough to cut to the bone. 

But inside the car, it was warm -- almost too warm, as it happened, and Laura felt her eyelids growing heavy with sleep. She was curled up in her car-seat. At six years of age, she was quite small for her age and that was a source of worry for her parents, though they took some pains to hide it. But it wasn’t like she didn’t know. To be small was to be able to hide in tiny spaces and listen. 

And Laura listened quite a lot, and saw even more. 

What she was listening to then was the howl of the wind outside and the soft buzzing static that came from the radio. They had driven past the range of the university’s classical music station about a hundred miles ago, but Marie -- Laura’s mother -- still kept it on a low volume. 

They were on a narrow highway, only two lanes wide on both sides, and no car or truck had passed them in almost an hour. It was too dark to see their license-plates anyway. Laura turned her attention back her mother, in the driver’s seat. Marie’s fair hair gleamed against the black leather of the head-rest. She always kept it loose, and Laura like to touch it and marvel at its softness and strength.

Marie’s eyes sought out Laura’s from the rear-view mirror. Her mouth lifted up into a smile. “Still awake, darling?”

Laura nodded and tried not to yawn. “Yes, Mommy. Are we there yet?” 

Marie’s smile grew broader. “Hang on for a little while longer. Next time we’ll tell Daddy not to pick such far-off place for a retreat, all right?” 

“Is there a lake where Daddy is?” 

“Uh-huh. A very big lake. It’s too cold to swim in it now, but it’ll be nice to look at, don’t you think?” 

“Uh-huh,” Laura’s head sank a little further under her blankets. 

“If you sleep, you’ll get there faster, and you can tell daddy all about our trip.” 

Sleep was looking better and better to Laura all the time. But still, she put up a token defense. “Will you sing to me? I’ll sleep then, I promise.” 

Marie’s voice was warm and rich. “All right,” she said. “What should I sing?” 

“The candle song,” Laura said definitely, and cocked her head in puzzlement. She thought she had seen a flash of white coming along the road. Was it a sign? A mile-marker? It was gone now. Marie was singing. 

Her voice was sweet, and a little sad. “The candle is burning, burning …” 

“Don’t let it go out,” Laura whispered along with her. 

“Those who want to see the flames, should all --” 

Laura drifted off before the next line. 

She woke to painful crunch of metal and glass, and car horn wailing. It was dark where she was, and small. She couldn’t move. Panic rose to her throat, making it difficult to breathe. Her voice was just short of a wail when she cried out. “Mommy? Mommy! Where are you?” 

Nothing, nothing. There was nothing. Even the horn croaked for a final time, then lapsed into silence. _Ba-dump, ba-dump_ , went Laura’s heart. She heard a thud, like something heavy landing on asphalt. _Something’s coming, something’s coming,_ whispered a small voice in the back of Laura’s head. 

Laura closed her eyes and tried not to cry, but she could feel the tears leak through her closed eyelids. But she couldn’t see what happened next -- a noise, and then the wet air, hitting her hot face. Laura opened her eyes, startled to see a slim, white arm reached in towards her. It tore through Laura’s restraints like they were nothing. She was carried away from the wreck in the arms of a woman whom she had never seen before.

“Do you know what happened to my mommy?” Laura asked, though she half-knew the answer. But that wasn’t possible. Dead was for grandparents she hadn’t known, or pet-turtles of the kid next door. Mommies don’t didn’t die. At least, not her mommy. 

The woman had long dark hair, so long that it spilled down her chest and rubbed against Laura’s face. She smelled a little funny, like the old woman down the street, the one with too many cats. Her face was in shadow, but her voice was clear. “Shh. It’s all right, Laura.” 

“But…” Laura turned her head and for the first time, she saw the car. It had stopped raining and watery moonlight flooded the road. The car was a twisted heap upon the road. The front was entirely crumpled, the roof caved in. The glass from the windshield glittered over the road, and Laura wondered why it didn’t cut the feet of the woman who was holding her. There was a black stain in the middle of the road, and a hank of hair that could have once been called fair. 

There was a cool touch on Laura’s forehead. 

“Sleep,” said the woman, “forget.” 

Laura’s eyelids drooped and she fell a long, long way into sleep. She hardly felt the little twin stings of pain on her throat. 

*****

Ben Nichols was in hell. 

It was the kind of hell that came upon him slowly, hour by hour as he waited for his wife and their daughter to come in from the city. His telephone didn’t ring, but that didn’t come as a surprise. His wife always promised to call if there was trouble, but she hardly ever did. 

Finally, the call did come in, but it was nothing he had hoped for and everything he dreaded. The morning found him in a cramped police station thirty miles away from the resort he had been staying at for the last week. He had been there first for a literary conference and then waiting for Marie to come with Laura, and have little break before the chaos of the holidays, before Ben went back to teaching and Marie went back to graduate school. 

He found Laura sleeping in one of the chairs in the waiting room, wrapped up in blankets that were too big for her. Empty candy wrappers filled the seat beside her, and a mournful looking teddy bear leaned against chest. Her eyes opened the moment he came in. 

“Daddy!” she said, and tried to get out of her cocoon of blankets. Slowly, the story came out. A trucker had come across the crash-scene sometime after dawn. Marie had been dead for two hours at least, and Laura was not with her. The police had searched the woods for her and found her not far from the car. She had been playing with a string of beads that Ben didn’t recognize as being Marie’s. What had happened before, she couldn’t say. The last thing she remembered was falling asleep in the car, and then next -- “A pretty lady told me to sleep.” 

Ben looked up at the weary-looking police sergeant who had served as Laura’s de-facto baby sitter. She shrugged. “There was no evidence of anyone else on the scene. There’s a lot of hidden curves on that road, and last night there was heavy rainfall. Roads were slick.” 

Ben felt as though his eyes were burning. Blinking rapidly, he bent down to Laura, who looked at him curiously. he picked her up quickly -- she was almost too heavy to carry these days. As she got comfortable in his arms, Ben frowned, seeing two very faint marks on her neck. “Are you hurt, Laura?” 

“No, Daddy,” Laura said with a sigh, laying her head on his shoulders. She looked very small and tired. 

Ben said quietly, “We’re going home now, sweetie?” 

Laura’s eyes were large and blue and utterly guileless. “Okay, Daddy. But what about Mommy?” 

*****

Money was always a concern, even after Marie’s life insurance was paid out and an uncle of his died, leaving Ben with a small legacy. He quit teaching and decided to travel, show Laura the country -- the world -- and perhaps, finally, write the novel he’d always wanted to write. Laura proved to be a sturdy little girl, unbothered by the rigors of travel. 

Laura was pretty after the fashion of her dead mother, in her hair, in the shape of her face. Ben could see some things she inherited from himself, of course. He only needed to look into her eyes to see that. 

They were friends more than father and daughter. Laura took to calling him by his given name shortly after her tenth birthday, and it was a habit that she kept to except in times of extreme distress. 

She learned quickly and thoroughly and became an inveterate reader. Her appetite was as indiscriminate as it was voracious; she was as happy to devour the latest roman à clef as she was to the more ponderous classics. Her father was pleased by her vocabulary, but worried about her social skills. Laura was fluent with at least three different languages, but the only person she spoke any of them with with regularity was with himself, and later, Ms. Perrodon. 

Ms. Perrodon had been for thirty years a schoolteacher. She styled herself something of an expert on child psychology -- though she had never taken a degree, nor had any children herself. She was a thin, grey woman, prone to fussing. But between herself and Laura there grew a profound love, and Laura proved herself an ideal pupil. Ben could not afford to pay Ms. Perrodon very much -- it never occurred to him to call her by her first name -- but she informed him that any opportunity to travel was a welcome one. 

But even with Ms. Perrodon’s able teaching, Ben worried over Laura. He began to think of it as his prime occupation, and certainly his most pressing one. Finally, while trying to write on a sweltering day in late spring, he decided to take the advice of an old school friend -- and put Laura into a good school. 

It would have to be a very good school, and the students would have to be a mix of girls from around the world. Finally, he found what seemed like the perfect school. After impressing the principal and her potential teachers deeply, Laura was duly accepted and duly went. 

Ms. Perrodon took the end of her journeys calmly. She would go to visit her sister’s family for a while and then -- who knew? The world was very big and she hadn’t seen very much of it. 

Laura wrote wrote dutiful letters back to her father about how much she was learning and what friends she had made. Later, he learned those were lies -- though perhaps he wouldn't have been so easily fooled if he hadn't wished so much to be. In fact, she had been bullied mercilessly by the other girls. The head torturer was girl named Anna, whose father also was a trustee at the school. Laura took the bullies stoically at first and retreated back into her books. This went on for several months before Ben got an alarming phone-call from the headmistress, advising him to come and collect Laura at once. 

This he did, all the while worried sick that she was taken ill, or had had a terrible accident. Ben kept thinking of that terrible November morning, so many years ago… it felt very much like then, until he found Laura outside the school with her bag in hand. 

“I’ve been expelled,” she said, “and they might still press charges.” 

Finally, in between liberal application of tea and sugary cakes, the story came out. In French, Anna had been especially unbearable. By some unlucky coincidence, she hit a nerve that was not so much raw as it was completely uncovered. 

“I heard,” Anna said with a familiar sneer, “that you killed your mother. Aren’t you afraid that you’ll kill your father too?” 

Laura froze and almost forgot how to breathe. Her hands tightened around a heavy textbook on her desk. Anna’s sneer began to fade. She turned away and said in a low voice. “Freak.” 

Laura got up slowly and turned to look at Anna, who began to look nervous. Laura slammed her on the ground and began to hit her, yanking against Anna’s dark brown hair. When the the principal arrived, the room was in chaos, with Anna’s screams and the shouts of the teacher and the other girl. When Laura was finally wrestled off the now-hysterical Anna, her hands were red with blood. 

She was kept in the principal’s office until her father arrived to take her away. 

Ben listened to the story carefully and held Laura’s hand. “You know that isn’t true? About your mother?” 

Laura didn’t look at him. “She said I was a monster.” 

“But you aren’t. Are you listening? Laura?” 

“And I thought if I was a monster and I could … If I could hurt someone so awful as her, being a monster wouldn’t be so bad.” She looked up at her father, her eyes pained. “Does that make me a monster, Ben?” 

“No! Laura, my darling girl, no. I’m so -- I’m so sorry that this happened, you should have said something -- will that girl be all right?” 

“Yes,” Laura said diffidently. “She’ll have a few stitches. If it had been worse, her father would have pressured the school to press charges against me. As it was, I’m expelled and I doubt any other school will take me.”

Ben could not help but think that Laura was very calm about the whole thing, but perhaps the shock of it still lingered. He shifted in his seat for a minute and wondered what to say. “We can call back Ms. Perrodon, if you’d like.” 

“No,” Laura said, decidedly. “I think I want to be in charge of my own education from now on. With your help, of course.” 

“Of course,” Ben echoed thoughtfully. It seemed like a good idea. If Laura was home-schooled, they would be able to travel more often and to more far-flung places. When the time came for her to go to university, he saw no reason why she should not pass and exceed any tests that were put before her. 

“Laura,” he said after their tea was almost over, “how would you like to live in a castle for a while?” 

“A castle?” Laura smiled, “how did you manage that?”

“Well, it’s a strange story, I’ll admit…” 

The ruins of Castle Karnstein had graced -- or rather, haunted -- the wild, mountainous countryside of Styria, Austria, for many centuries now. 

The family that had once owned it, the Karnsteins, was no longer in existence. But Marie had been a descendant of theirs, through a distaff line. Ben had been told this -- not by Marie herself -- but by a drunk cousin-or-uncle of hers during their wedding, almost twenty years ago. Marie had never cared for family history. Especially bad family history. 

And by all reports, The Karnsteins were bad, very bad. They were prone to torturing their peasants when they were not squeezing them dry by way of taxes. Shortly before the age of Enlightenment descended on Europe as a whole, an angry mob of peasants stormed the castle and set it alight. Some of the family were trapped inside, but it was that some were alerted beforehand and escaped into the night.

So Castle Karnstein sat, a brutal reminder of the past, overlooking a dead, empty village (because when the Karnsteins died, the village died too) for three more centuries. Then, in the late nineteenth century, a Schloss-mad American millionaire, struck by the bleak beauty of the castle and surroundings, decided that he had to have it back home. That was to say, the castle, not the landscape, which was unmovable. 

He made offer after extravagant offer to the local nobleman, on whose land the ruins now sat, until he finally hit upon an amount -- almost unimaginable in its day -- for purchase of the property. Then the real work began as every brick and stone of Castle Karnstein was disassembled and loaded first on to trains and then on ships to its new home in America. 

“That’s insane! Why did he do it?” Laura asked. “Couldn’t he be content to have solid gold bathroom fixtures, like a regular respectable robber baron?” 

Her father laughed. “Ah, but it was for love, dear Laura.” 

Laura made a face, but her father continued on blithely. “He had a wife -- young, beautiful and temperamental. She was descended from the Karnsteins, and would not rest until the old ancestral pile was restored to it former grandeur. Even if it happened to be restored in a completely different continent than where it had been raised…” 

He paused for a moment, looking a little winded. 

Laura poured him some more tea. “You’ve been saving this up for me, haven’t you?” 

Ben smiled. “I have been doing some research, after I got the news.” 

“What news? And didn’t you say the Karnsteins were extinct?” 

“Well, for a long-extinct family, the Karnsteins still got around -- did you know that your mother was descended from them?” 

Laura shook her head. “I can’t imagine she was too thrilled about that.” 

“Oh, she hated them, never spoke a word about them. But I have my sources,” Ben said happily. 

“And they’re all dead now,” Laura said with a queer look on her face. “What harm can they do?” 

“Exactly.” 

“What happened to the Schloss-mad millionaire and his young wife? I’m guessing they didn’t live happily ever after.” 

“Well, no. There was a great scandal --” Ben said, with a wicked gleam in his eye. Laura leaned in, half-convinced that her father was making up the entire thing. “The Austrians soon claimed the American millionaire had no right to the castle, that his wife claimed a fraudulent title. The nobleman with whom the millionaire had done business with seemed to disappear entirely. Newspapers on both sides of the Atlantic took up the story, dubbing it “The Affair of the The Stolen Castle”... That is to say, until the very next month, when a shot rang out on the streets of Sarajevo…” 

“And his wife?” 

“She died, before the work could be completed on the castle, poor woman! But she did leave behind quite a stunning portrait, I’ll have to show you one day. It says on the bottom of frame -- Mircalla, Countess of Karnstein. Though there were doubts about her being either a descendant of the Karnsteins, of course, and the title itself was long-extinct by that point.” 

“If she wasn’t a Karnstein, what else could she have been?” 

“An actress from Graz who had heard about the Karnsteins, perhaps? That was the prevailing theory, anyway.”

Laura smiled, pleased to imagine such a woman. “If she was an actress, she must have been very bold one... what happened after she died?” 

“Her husband’s mind was completely turned by the event. He left the reins of his company to his brother, who drove to the ground, and took to drinking away his sorrows. Just before the war ended, someone deliberately set the castle aflame, and when the smoke cleared, the unfortunate man was dead and many rare and irreplaceable antiques were destroyed. Only east wing was left habitable.” 

“And the news you’re so dying to tell me?” 

“And now,” Ben said with a brilliant smile, “it’s slated to become a hotel -- but before it does, you and I can live there quite cheaply.” 

“Who owns it now? Where is it? Dad, you can’t just drag me off to live in a castle in Styria,” Laura protested. 

“In Styria? No, not anymore. It’s in the Midwest, actually.” 

“What? Why?!” 

“Yes. And a friend of mine owns it, Vordenburg. He’s out of the country right now, but do you remember him? He came to your fourth birthday party and argued with your mother…” 

“He doesn’t ring a bell,” Laura said. After a long pause, she continued, trying to sound blasé. “I guess it’s better than a place in the suburbs…”

* * *

The castle was not quite the fairy-tale building that Laura had -- unconsciously -- been expecting. It was somber, rather than beautiful, and even a century later, the marks of its baptism of fire was still evident. Once, it had been quite magnificent, Ben assured her, but the more decorative elements had not quite survived its violent past -- there was only one tower remaining, and that was inaccessible. Still, dark green ivy covered most of the exterior, giving the place a ramshackle charm. 

It had also been originally outfitted with both a mushroom and a wine-cellar, as well as a private chapel and extensive gardens laced with marble statues. Some amenities were no longer there; the moat had long since filled in, and the front yard was mostly paved over with asphalt.

When it was first built, it was in the open countryside -- the woods were perfect for long rambles, and there was a lake nearby of surpassing clarity and beauty. But over the century or so of its current existence, progress had made deep inroads into the surrounding countryside. The city, which before had been located hundred miles away, had expanded, sprouted suburbs, the suburbs had sprouted exurbs, and a great and roaring interstate had bullied its way through the countryside quite close to here, going east to west. 

There was no use pretending that the castle existed in magnificent isolation -- from the most distant room of the castle, the hum of traffic was never quite far away. 

Laura found that she rather enjoyed the contradiction of living there. Even the tragic history of the place let a certain dramatic charm to the setting -- which went to show that time and separation worked wonders on the strangest fate. She liked wandering the castle and the grounds, exploring the half-ruined greenhouse and nearly slipping into the weed-choked lilypond. 

Her room looked out to the woods -- a dense mix of evergreens and oaks. There was an identical room next door which connected to hers by a door which locked on only one side. 

Laura did not think the chances of the castle ever becoming a hotel were very good -- and anyway, it would take years and years of work to bring it up to that state anyway. Her father paid a monthly rent to the owner, whom she had never met, and father and daughter lived peacefully for years in the dread castle of the Karnsteins, with nary a ghost to bother them. 

*****

Laura woke to dreadful clamour one morning. Her nineteenth birthday had been the week before, and since then, her sleep had been fragile. She knew that the man who owned the castle had decided to start rebuilding the ruined part of the castle at last, but really. Did they have to be so loud? 

With a loud sigh, she felt fell back into bed. There was a terrific stab of pain on her temple, a harbinger of a headache. She had slept badly the night before, dreaming bad dreams. Again and again, the same face appeared, one that was half-familiar, and half not. Laura thought idly about what she could do, the books she could read, the essays she could write, the chores she had to do that day. She really ought to get up. 

Instead of doing any of that, she went back to sleep. 

She woke again to a knocking at her door. “Laura!” her father called. “Have you forgotten what day it is?”

Muffled by a pillow, she said, “What day is it?” 

“Check your calendar!” 

Her calendar was pinned to the wall opposite her bed. One date was circled in red and wreathed in exclamation marks. The 14th, it said. Today the 14th. Today was the day when … “Is Beth here?!” Laura rolled out bed and hit the floor in her excitement. She had never met Beth Rheinfeldt in person, but felt as if she knew her intimately. 

She was the grand-niece of the great General Spieldorf, who had been a close friend of her grandfather, Ben’s father. Though he was nearly eighty, he had never seen the reason to retire, and was often posted in far away places. Laura had never seen him in real life, though she had often heard her father talk about him, with a great deal of affection. Beth, dearest lovely Beth, had been a late arrival in the General’s life. A confirmed bachelor, he had not thought he would ever have a child. But when Beth’s parents had died when she was young, it was the General who had raised her. 

Laura, growing up, had heard lots of things about Beth. How intelligent she was, how kind. A natural leader, a good friend. It never occurred to Laura to be jealous of the accomplished Beth. Only… She would have dearly liked to have her as a friend! 

It had taken a little while for Laura to muster up the courage to make the necessary phone-calls to be able to talk to Beth, but she was glad that she had. Beth was a serious young woman, not unlike herself. She was away in school for most of the year, and lived abroad for the rest of it. 

Their friendship grew from phone-calls and to long, meandering chats over the Internet which Laura secretly prefered. Their compatibility was perfect; they liked the same books, the same television shows and films. Laura half-feared that once they met face-to-face, however, such similarities would not come to much. 

“What if she doesn’t like me?” she asked her father over breakfast, feeling very foolish. 

He made a comforting noise in between solving his crossword. “If you two don’t get along, we can always throw her out to the wolves.” 

“Wolves are still endangered, aren’t they? You can’t change their diet like that,” Laura said immediately and then looked down. “I don’t want her to not like me. Will she think I’m stupid and awkward because I haven’t gone to school?” 

“She will love you, Laura, don’t worry,” Ben said, going back to his morning paper. 

Laura smiled and was not at all convinced. 

Breakfast was over; they gathered up the dishes and cleaned the table. Ben disappeared into his study and Laura paced around the garden, anxious for any news. Often, she would check the time on her watch, only to be disappointed at the slow passage of time. Beth was expected in the late afternoon, and it was only noon. Laura decided to take a longer walk into the countryside to clear her head and went wherever her steps took her.

The woods did not hold their usual interest, and Laura found herself eager to go again. As she headed back home, she heard Ben calling her name. When she met up with him in the back garden, he looked like he was at a loss as what to say. 

“What’s wrong?” Laura said, her stomach sinking. Beth, she thought, had changed her mind. Why would someone like her want to spend the summer with a non-entity like Laura? 

Ben shook his head abruptly, “It’s very bad news, I’m afraid. The worst -- she’s dead, Laura, I’m so sorry.” 

Laura shook her head in disbelief. “How can she be dead? What happened? Was there an accident?” 

“The General couldn’t say. She went to the end-of-the semester dance last week, and then she became ill. She died last night -- they can’t determine the exact cause without an autopsy.” 

Dazed, Laura said, “She was only eighteen…” 

She slipped away from Ben’s hug and went back to her room and locked the door. She sat at her desk and got out the letters Beth had sent to her; she opened the computer and looked at the pictures she had sent. 

Beth looked back at her, her face open and pretty. How could she be dead? 

The rest of the week slipped by in a sad blur. Laura couldn’t read, didn’t want to write, nothing appealed to her at all. She shredded all of Beth’s letters, deleted her pictures. 

Ben, worried about her all over again, made some noises about taking a long trip somewhere sunny and warm, but she couldn’t summon the energy to agree or disagree. Laura lay in bed and thought that maybe it would have been better if she had never befriended Beth, if she had never wanted to see her. She turned over and buried her head under her pillow. They all die, die, die.

Beth hadn’t even had a chance. 

A cold, clear voice whispered into her ear. You know it’s your fault, right? 

“No!” Laura said, pulling the pillow tighter over her ears. No, no, no.

 *****

A month passed like this, then another. 

Laura resolved to forget about Beth. She went back to studying, went back to her normal life. If she was gloomier than before, then so what? Summer melted into autumn, the trees turning from deep green to reds, oranges, and yellows. 

One day, Ben, observing Laura’s low spirits, suggested they take a walk. It was around evening-time and the sun had begun to set. It was brilliant, flaming and red, and somehow unwholesome. Along the road that ran close to the castle, there was more traffic than usual -- no traffic was the usual. Ben said something about there being some road work happening on the highway.

Laura turned to reply and heard the gunning of an engine. A car came from behind her and hit a tree on the side of the road, spun around and came to a stop. 

Laura covered her eyes so as not to see the moment of impact, but she could hear clearly the shattering of glass and the crunch of metal, twisting. It was too much, too familiar. Laura covered her face, a terrified sob rose to her lips. She was shaking and felt her father’s hand on her shoulder. 

The black car came to a stop and the driver’s side door swung open. A well-dressed woman stumbled out. She was chalk-pale, her blonde hair in disarray. She grabbed Ben’s arm and said, “My daughter -- she’s been hurt, please help her.” 

Ben nodded as he fumbled with his cellphone, his gloved hands slipping against touch-screen.

“Oh, for God’s sake,” the woman said, her lips thinning in disapproval. She let go of his arm. 

Laura ran to the car and threw open the door. Someone grabbed her arm, someone with a very strong grip. When she drew away, that someone turned out to be one of the most beautiful girls Laura had ever seen -- outside of the movies. 

Laura helped her out of the car, and the stranger leaned heavily against her. She could walk, at least, and it didn’t seem as though she had broken anything. There was, however, a cut on her forehead, running almost into fine, dark hair. 

Laura touched her face gingerly, and the girl’s eyes opened. Her expression, once slack, cleared into one of complete wonderment and surprise. 

“Oh, Laura,” she said with deep sigh. “I’ve found you again.” 

Then she closed her eyes again and leaned even more heavily on Laura. Ben hurried over to them and together, father and daughter supported the beautiful stranger. 

Meanwhile, her mother had commandeered Ben’s phone -- “Mine was smashed, you see” -- and was talking to someone in rapid German, too fast for Laura to comprehend.

“We have to take her to a hospital,” Laura said, looking to her father for confirmation. 

“Ah, yes, madame, if you could give me back my phone…?”

The girl’s mother paused for conversation for a moment, and said sharply, “There’s no need. Carmilla, wake up.” 

The girl, Carmilla, seemed to revive at the mention of her name. She stepped away from Laura and Ben with a sigh. 

“Mother,” she said coolly.

“I’m going to miss my plane if there are any more delays. Will you be able to take care of yourself?” 

“I’m all right,” Carmilla said, wiping the blood off her face. 

“You’re far from all right,” Laura protested. Carmilla’s mother seemed to consider this for a moment, before turning smartly towards Ben.

“Sir,” she said formally, “ would you please take charge my young daughter, Carmilla, who is utterly alone in the world, except for myself. Her health in a delicate state, and I have urgent business elsewhere, and I _must_ go --” 

Ben began to say, confused at the woman’s request, “While I’m flattered that you would have so much faith in me, even though we’re virtual strangers… but we need to call the police.” 

“For this? A fender-bender,” said Carmilla’s mother dismissively. “I’ve called a tow-truck, and my traveling companions are coming shortly with another car.” 

“If you must go, Mother, you must go,” Carmilla said. “I’ll take a bus back to the city.” She went back to the wreck of the car and began to root around on her side, pulling out a small leather suitcase. 

“Don’t be so dramatic, darling, you know what I mean,” her mother said, following her to the car. The mother and daughter had a fierce whispered conversation, and Laura, still somewhat dazed, went back to her father. They watched the drama unfold quietly, each feeling bewildered by the circumstances. 

“Carmilla and her mother don’t look very much alike,” Laura said. Carmilla was dark and petite, almost to the point of childishness, and her mother… Well, she was a tall, icy glass of water. Emphasis being on _ice_. They didn’t act very much like mother and daughter either, in her mind, though Laura’s experience with that kind of thing was understandably limited. 

“Mm. I’m not sure why hospitals were out the question though,” Laura’s father said. He narrowed his eyes. “Or the police.” 

“She might be --” Laura bit her lip. “Carmilla might be in trouble. She really doesn’t want to go with her mother. Dad, do you think we can take her in for a while? Just as long as she gets her bearings, I don’t want --” She stopped, not sure how to continue. 

Carmilla had stopped arguing with her mother and stood quiet. She looked like she was in the brink of tears. Impulsively, Laura went to her and hugged her. 

“It’s just the shock,” she whispered. “You’re okay. You can stay with us, if you like. We have plenty of room.” 

“I can’t impose on you two in that way,” Carmilla whispered. 

“It’s no imposition, we were expecting a guest but she -- she couldn’t make it,” Laura said hurriedly. Beth and her grief seemed a million miles away, like something that had happened to another person. Carmilla now filled her thoughts. 

_Carmilla, what an unusual name. Beautiful, just like her._

Carmilla gave her a radiant smile, as if she could read Laura’s thoughts. “You’re so kind,” she said, touching Laura’s blushing cheek. 

“Not really,” Laura said. 

“I guess we’ll take her,” Ben said and Laura came back down to earth. Carmilla’s mother flashed him a brilliant smile. “You’re a lifesaver. I really have to go. The name’s Eva, by the way.” Ben held out his hand but she only handed back his phone. 

Laura coughed nervously. “Ah, ma’am? If you’re waiting for a taxi -- it might take ages -- people really don’t use them here.” 

Eva held up a finger up. “It’s all right, dear, there was another car in our party.” And as soon as she said it, another car came to a stop in front of them. The driver was a pale young man in a black suit. He began to load Eva’s luggage into his car, and left what must have been Carmilla’s on the side of the road. 

Carmilla held her hands out to Laura, who took them. They were soft and dry, and warm. 

She didn’t blink when her mother approached her and gave her a kiss on her forehead. Eva muttered, “Be good and call me if you need anything.” 

“Goodbye, Mother,” Carmilla said and she was gone. Laura frowned in puzzlement. _How detached they are from each to other!_ She took up Carmilla’s hand again. 

Carmilla gave her a quick, sweet smile and Laura found herself blushing again. 

Carmilla had a lot of baggage, but both Laura and her father agreed that she should not exert herself, so she led the party back to the castle. She seemed to know the way well enough, though it was a quite a walk from the road. 

“She’ll have Beth’s room -- the one next to mine,” Laura said decisively, putting down a suitcase on the floor. 

Dinner was an informal -- and late -- affair. Carmilla begged it off, saying that she never dined after midnight. Laura laughed, “Or what? You turn into a Gremlin?” 

Carmilla’s canines looked unusually sharp, especially when she laughed. “Something like that,” she said at last. 

*****

Despite going to bed feeling utterly exhausted, Laura tossed and turned. Her mind was abuzz with all that had happened that night. Beth retreated farther and farther back into her memory. Instead, a new person took her place, and took it completely. Carmilla! Laura began to plan what she would show her new friend, where she would take her. Judging from her expensive luggage and well-tailored clothes, Laura supposed Carmilla wouldn’t be too impressed with the slow pace of life around here, but…

Oh! How she wished it was the morning, so she could see Carmilla again. But as it turned out, Laura didn’t have to wait. There was a soft knock on the door that connected her bedroom from Beth’s -- now Carmilla’s room. 

“Yes?” 

“It’s me,” said Carmilla from the other side of the door. “May I come in?” 

Laura sat up and said, “Yes, of course. Come in.”

Carmilla came in, still wearing the clothes she had been wearing before.

“May I sit?” she asked, gesturing to the bed. 

“Please,” Laura said, patting the place next to her. 

Once Carmilla had settled down, Laura reached out and touched Carmilla’s hand. Shyly, she said, “I feel like I know you already.” 

Carmilla’s eyes widened in astonishment. She leaned in and said eagerly, “You feel that way too?” 

“Yes! Like when you already knew my name, I don’t even know how you could have --?” 

Carmilla said, dreamily, “I once had someone who was very dear to me, by that name. You are very much like her. But a little different too, I hope.” Then she leaned in and kissed Laura softly on the lips. 

Laura closed her eyes for a moment and took a deep breath.

“Did I move too fast? Is it ruined already?” After a long silence, Carmilla said, “Laura, please speak to me…” 

“I’m -- I’m -- God, I’m such a terrible loser, I don’t --” Laura scrubbed her face, frustration building in her veins. “This is awkward.” 

Carmilla looked amused. “It is, a little.” 

Laura looked at Carmilla, really looked at her. Of course, Carmilla was really very pretty. Her face was flushed pink, and her eyes were downcast. Her lashes made spikes of shadow down her cheek. She was huddled on the corner of the bed, and though it was a twin and narrow one at that, the distance seemed impassable. 

Laura said slowly, “It’s just that I’ve never kissed --” 

Carmilla looked up, her lips curled upward. “-- a girl before?” 

“More like anyone before. I don’t think I wanted to -- and of course, no one was interested.” 

Carmilla clicked her tongue in disapproval. “Surely you don’t believe that? You’re very pretty, Laura.” 

“Um, thank you…” Laura began to say uncertainly. 

“I’ll tell you what,” Carmilla said. “I won’t kiss you again.” 

“Oh…” Laura couldn’t quite keep the disappointment from her voice. 

“Until you tell me that I can. Is that better?” 

“Yes.” Laura licked her lips. 

After another mysterious smile, Carmilla got up from Laura’s bed and left the room. 

Laura’s dreams were filled with _Carmilla, Carmilla, Carmilla._

 *****

The next morning, Laura woke feeling heavy and sluggish. Her alarm-clock flashed seven o’clock. She waited for a minute, wondering if Carmilla would wake up at the same time. But there was no noise from the other room. Finally, Laura got up and began to get ready. She went to the bathroom down the hall -- which she was supposed to share with Beth and began to clean it vigorously. 

Her face, when reflected in the bathroom mirror, looked pale and tired. She looked as if she hadn’t slept well, but that wasn’t quite right. She sometimes felt that way after a night of tossing and turning, but couldn’t remember doing that after Carmilla’s visit. With a sigh, Laura pushed away her hair away from her face and tried to see what Carmilla had seen in her, last night. 

While both of her parents had been good-looking people, Laura herself was painfully ordinary. Even her hair, which had been quite blonde when she was a child, had darkened into light brown. Her eyes were still blue, but now the color of water reflecting the sky. 

She frowned. _Stupid, poetic nonsense!_ She let her hair spill into her face once again. 

After she had cleaned the bathroom, taken a shower, and brushed her teeth, Laura went downstairs to wait for Carmilla. The morning trickled by slowly. Ben came down and muttered a greeting. He groped blindly for his morning cup of coffee. Laura took pity on him and handled him hers, and made another for herself. 

She waited for Carmilla to come down. 

_10 o’clock, 11, noon._

Laura heard Carmilla’s light step on the stairs before she saw her. When Carmilla came in, she was full of effusive excuses. She had been so tired from the night before! She had slept so badly! Not, of course, because her bed was uncomfortable, but… and here Carmilla sat on the seat opposite of Laura, her face in her hands. Carmilla smiled at her dreamily, her hands on her face. 

“How did you sleep?” 

“Not very well,” Laura confessed. 

“Poor darling,” Carmilla said. “I can tell you’re not used to it as I am. I rarely fall asleep before three in the morning -- I’m a horrible insomniac. I really can’t get up before noon, you see.” 

“It must’ve been difficult for you when you were in school,” Laura ventured to say. She had assumed Carmilla was her age -- or even younger -- but now she wondered. 

Carmilla shook her head sadly. “I was never in school. I was always so ill! My parents hired tutors for me, of course, but I mostly had to learn for myself.” Then she yawned like a cat and stretched. 

She looked at Laura languidly, appealingly. “What do you do all day?” 

Laura straightened in her seat. “I study, mostly, and write when I can.” 

“You’re a writer? Of novels?” Carmilla asked, leaning forward. 

“Not really,” Laura said. “I do historical research for some of my father’s novels, and I’m working on something on my own. I can’t quite tell you about it now…” 

“Oh,” Carmilla said, “well, don’t let me keep you.” 

Laura got up and hesitated. “But since you’re here, maybe I can show you around?” 

Carmilla got up quickly -- far more quickly than Laura would have suspected from her slow, sure movements before. She wrapped her arms around Laura’s shoulder and murmured softly in her ear, “How lovely you are, Laura, how kind…” 

*****

The sights were quickly exhausted. Laura showed Carmilla around the castle, pointed out certain things of interest. Carmilla slouched behind her, listening to everything and rarely speaking. 

“Oh!” Laura cried, turning back to her friend. “I have to show you the portrait. I don’t know why didn’t occur to me before -- but you look awfully like the Countess.” 

“The Countess?” Carmilla said, pulling her hands into her pockets. “Surely not. I’m just an ordinary girl.” 

“Would anyone in their right mind believe that?” Laura shot back, but Carmilla merely smiled. They went to the room where the portrait was kept, and Laura watched, a little nervously, as Carmilla inspected it. 

Carmilla was not to be particularly impressed by the portrait. “The artist was an amateur,” she said with a yawn. “And I don’t like the red-and-white color scheme.” 

Laura looked back at the portrait more closely. The resemblance between Carmilla and the Countess was not as marked as she had thought. Compared to the fresh and blooming Carmilla, the portrait seemed to be a poor substitute indeed. But still, the romantic notion of Carmilla being a sort of reincarnation of the lost Countess, and one that Laura couldn’t quite get rid of. 

She went to the sofa opposite of the portrait and sat down. Carmilla followed her example and sprawled languidly across the other half of the sofa. 

“Do you think,” Laura said, half-dreamily, “the dead can ever come back amongst the living?” 

“No, darling,” Carmilla said, leaning against Laura, “I don’t. I think that for most people, death is all there is. The end. That’s it. No more. And that is not a bad thing.” 

Laura turned to her. “For most, you said. What about the others?” 

Carmilla gave her a toothy smile. “Most would say it’s frightful, but I’m of the opinion that it can’t be _all_ bad.” 

“Are you saying there’s such things as ghosts, Carmilla? Or vampires?” Laura dropped her voice low. “Do they sparkle?” 

Carmilla rolled her eyes and said, “If you aren’t going to take me seriously, dear…” 

“I’m sorry,” Laura said, not feeling particularly so. She glanced back at the portrait of the Courtess, looking down at them with her enormous, dark eyes. Carmilla, warm beside her, felt nothing like that doomed woman, a hundred years dead. 

*****

After the first few days of Carmilla’s visit, Laura had discovered few new things about her. First was the Carmilla hardly ate. She never ate breakfast. She did have coffee, sometimes, sipping it carefully before putting it down again. At lunch, she was so lively and funny and dazzling that did did not seem to matter that she ate nothing. At dinner, she was even more charming, and drank wine freely. 

Laura, whose appetite was quite healthy, thank you very much, observed Carmilla’s eating habits with both alarm and envy. She wondered if she should say something like, “But, Carmilla, you _must_ eat something…” 

… but decided that she simply couldn’t. Laura took a bite of the salmon and put down her fork. Carmilla sat opposite her and glanced up, smiling. At first, when Laura felt a bump under the table, she thought it was an accident, but then again… Carmilla had taken off her shoes, and her stockinged foot pressed briefly against Laura’s ankle. There and gone. Hard to say if it had been there at all. 

Carmilla laughed at a joke Laura’s father made -- one that was older than Queen Victoria, at least -- and the bright, clear sound rose up and up. Laura took another sip of wine and stretched her legs under the table. 

 

 *****

It was midnight and something heavy was moving around in the room next to hers. Carmilla’s room. Laura got out bed quietly and went bare-footed to the door that connected her room to the one next to it. She bent down and pressed her ear against the wood. But she could hear nothing. 

Then the doorknob turned and Laura felt a gust of cool air on her face. 

Carmilla looked down at her. “Laura?” she said questioningly. “Are you all right?” 

Laura picked herself up quickly and said, “I thought -- I thought I heard something.” 

“Oh, sometimes when it gets too hot, I go and open the window. And --” Carmilla’s voice lowered, “I’ve been known to sleep-walk. Don’t let it worry you.” 

“Perhaps -- if you’d keep the door unlocked, I could … help?” 

“Oh,” Carmilla leaned over and placed a kiss on Laura’s forehead. “I wouldn’t disturb you for the world. Go to sleep now.” 

Later, Laura thought she heard the opening of the window latch and a great gust of wind. 

*****

It was a lazy Sunday afternoon, a quarter past noon according to the wall-clock. Carmilla stretched out next to Laura on the sofa and hid her face on the crook of Laura’s neck. Some of her hair strayed to the pages of the book Laura was reading. Laura carefully removed Carmilla’s hair and continued to reading. It was true that Carmilla had no true concept of personal space, that she spread out and invaded space like a beautiful kudzu, that there was no getting away from her. 

Laura smiled and turned the page. 

*****

It wasn’t as if Laura forgot about Beth entirely. How could she? Poor Beth, whom Laura had never, really, truly met. Beth was an abstraction, a ghost of girl who had slipped away so slowly that Laura hardly even noticed. She knew that her father was still in contact with Beth’s uncle and guardian, and she listened vaguely as Ben explained that the General had strongly disagreed with the cause of death. 

“Poor man,” Ben said, in tones of pity and distress. “He seems to lay the blame all on one of Beth’s friends -- a girl who disappeared soon after the dance. Laura? Are you all right?” 

Laura lifted her head and looked at him. “Why wouldn’t I be?” She was sprawled out in the middle of a sofa, with Carmilla sleeping quietly beside her. She felt lethargic, but good. Ben felt her forehead, which was cool. 

“You don’t look like yourself,” her father said worriedly. 

Laura yawned. “I haven’t been sleeping well.” 

“That must be it. Should I go into town and get you some melatonin? Or should I make a doctor’s appointment?” 

“It’s fine, really, I just need some rest,” she said and yawned again. 

Ben said, finally, “Well, I’ll make the appointment anyway, shall I?” 

 

 *****

“Are you ready?” Laura asked Carmilla, who adjusted her sunglasses and nodded. After an afternoon of heavy pressure, Ben had agreed to let Laura take one the car out. Not their practical but uninteresting Toyota, but the incredibly impractical red convertible that had belonged to one of the castle’s previous owners. 

It still ran well enough to zip up and down the country roads at alarming speeds. Usually a sedate driver, Laura became a speed demon. Carmilla’s headscarf blew into the backseat and her hair came loose, dark with streaks of gold. They drove until they came to a road that followed a long, twisting river. Laura stopped at scenic overlook that looked out to the river valley and the almost bare trees that stood on either side of it. 

They split a thermos of hot coffee between them, and wandered through the small park attached to the overlook. Carmilla climbed on the low stone wall that cut off the grassy lawn from the abruptly steep hillside. She offered to help Laura up, and once again Laura marveled at the effortless strength of her grip. They watched as the sun sank behind the crest of trees. 

Laura sighed. She felt completely happy -- she felt almost completely happy. Carmilla bumped her shoulder against hers and said, “What are you thinking about?” 

Laura turned to her and grinned. “I was thinking that if you wanted to kiss me now, I wouldn’t object.” 

Carmilla pouted for a moment before saying, dryly, “Thank you for your gracious permission.” 

“I’m sorry,” Laura began to say, “I only mean…” 

“You mean to tease me,” Carmilla said, leaning in towards Laura, her lips grazing the side of her face. 

“Maybe a little. Do you mind?” 

“Not at all,” Carmilla said. “On the contrary. It makes me so happy to so see you so -- Laura --” 

Laura kissed her and Carmilla’s answering chuckle was deeper than than Laura was expecting, and their next kiss was sweeter, stranger, more familiar than she had ever hoped it to be. 

*****

By the time they reached the castle, Carmilla was sleeping soundly in the car. After Laura had parked the car in the garage, she leaned over to the passenger-side seat. “Carmilla? Do you need to rest?” 

Carmilla opened her eyes slowly and gave her a languid smile. “I think I might. Do you mind if I skip dinner tonight?” 

“Not at all,” Laura said easily, trying not to worry. But Carmilla seemed to sense it anyway. She reached over and lifted her chin. Laura smiled, despite herself, and Carmilla let go. 

“But I would like to see you later tonight,” Carmilla said, looking at Laura through the sweep of her dark lashes. “Would that be all right?” 

Laura leaned against the wheel. Her heart was racing in her chest and it seemed as though, even in the darkened garage, Carmilla could feel it. “Yes,” she said at last. “I’d like that.”

Dinner went by slowly. Laura was distracted, and picked at her food. She didn’t reply to all of Ben’s questions right away or else ignored them altogether. The General had called Ben again, saying something about getting poor Beth’s body dug up. Laura frowned, and wanted to make some remark about letting go but she settled for stony indifference. However, when he told her that he had made an doctor’s appointment for her in the morning, she did rouse herself enough to protest. 

“There’s nothing wrong with me,” she said, stabbing at her baked chicken. 

“It’s probably anemia -- but I think you need to have it checked out,” Ben said, after an awkward pause. 

“Whatever,” Laura said, pushing her chair back with a jerk. She left the table and took her plate with her. From the dining room to the kitchen, she began to regret her show of temper. Laura and her father rarely argued and never actually fought. Not that this was a fight, she thought as she scraped the remnants of her dinner into the trash. There needed to be at least two people to do that, and Ben never indulged her on that account. 

Even though Laura knew she was in the wrong, there was more than a shade of irritation in all of her actions. When she went upstairs, she was surprised to find that Carmilla was not in her room nor in the other places her friend liked to lounge. Annoyed, Laura retreated back into her now-neglected library and began to work. 

Well, she called it a library, but it was rather a medium sized room lined with shelves, meant to be side-study of sorts. The grand library had gone up in flames a hundred years ago, and the quality of the books had suffered. Instead of ponderous tomes full of secret knowledge, there was an entire row dedicated to yellowing copies of The National Geographic and another for Reader’s Digest condensed novels. 

Laura’s desk was against the wall, and she yanked out the seat and sat down heavily, her foot hitting the baseboard hard. There was a crack and she groaned. Surely she hadn’t hit it that hard! Laura pushed back her chair and got on her hands and knees. It was dusty, under her desk, and she saw that the portion of the baseboard lay on the floor. There were no missing nails, as far as she could see -- it seemed as if someone had cut the baseboard out after it had been installed and then glued it, not nailed it back in. 

There was a small gap in the wall, and even in the poor light, Laura thought she saw something in there. Biting her lip and hoping that she wouldn’t touch anything too gross, she reached in towards -- a leather folder, meant to keep documents in. 

Carefully, Laura put back the baseboard where it had been and got up again, with her discovery. In the leather folder, there were a sheaf of papers, bonding together with faded red thread. The words were typewritten, though the ink was faint. It started off with: _Upon a paper attached to the Narrative which follows, Doctor Hesselius has written a rather elaborate note, which he accompanies with a reference to his Essay on the strange subject which the MS. illuminates._

Laura began to read and did not stop until she got to the end. 

*****

It was nearing two in the morning when Laura was finished with her discovery. She had stopped several times, made notes, scoffed, marked something in her notes, shaken her head, refused to believe, was convinced it was fake, began to believe, gave up believing, and finally stopped. She put her discovery away in the safe where her father kept their important papers and her mother’s jewelry. 

She walked up the stairs and first checked her father’s room, which was on the other side of the house than the rooms she shared with Carmilla. Ben, always an early riser, had already gone to bed. Laura lingered for a moment at his door, wondering if she should wake him up, but decided against it. Instead, she went back to her room and closed the door. 

Her room, now so familiar to her, seemed to have changed. Everything, subtly shifted. Laura undressed quickly. She debated over keeping her bra on before deciding to, it was soft and comfortable, ratty almost. Then she slipped a nightgown over her head and nipped quickly into bed. Her heart was pounding uncomfortably in her chest. Carmilla did not come to her, and for once, Laura was grateful for the respite. 

Still, when she woke in the morning, her neck felt sore and she felt more exhausted than she thought possible. 

 

 *****

The next morning, Laura and Ben went to the doctor’s office. They were silent on the car-ride over. Laura stared out of the window and watched the empty, snow-covered fields pass by. “I’m sorry I was so rude earlier,” Laura said, still looking out. 

“Don’t worry about it,” Ben said, turning on the radio. The local news was on, after the forecast. There were a rash of cougar sightings that had local farmers concerned about their livestock. 

“Cougars this far east?” Laura said, frowning. 

“Apparently. Erica Lambert says she saw one prowling the yard the night her eldest girl got sick.” 

“Sick?” Laura turned to look at Ben. “What’s wrong with her?” 

“Something serious, I’m afraid, she’s been moved to a hospital in the city.” 

Laura nodded and began to massage her temples, frowning. 

The waiting room of the doctor’s office was filled with people of various ages, including some girls Laura’s age or younger. The wait was a long one and Laura left Ben to iron-out the complications of their health insurance coverage with the receptionists. She found a quiet corner and sat there for almost half-an-hour, listlessly leafing through a fashion magazine. She couldn’t read a single word. When her name was called, she shuffled into the examining room like a zombie. She greeted the news that she had lost some weight since her last check-up with indifference. 

The nurse, a kindly-looking woman of middle age pressed a warm, brown hand on Laura’s forehead. “You should have come in sooner,” she said. The doctor, when she came in, said much the same thing. Laura was sent off to have her blood taken, and the cookie she got for it didn’t help much. 

She and Ben waited at the pharmacy for the prescription for Laura’s new iron supplements to come in. By the time they got home, Carmilla was up. She attached herself to Laura at the first opportunity. 

“Are you dying, my dear?” she said. “What did the doctor say?” 

“Nothing,” Laura said with a bright, false smile. “Just that my iron levels are down. Nothing important.” 

“What a relief,” Carmilla said, burying her face in the crook of Laura’s neck. “I would hate to see you die.” 

“Mm. I would hate to have to die.” 

*****

“Carmilla, do you believe in God?,” Laura asked the next day, after a lunch of apples and a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, which she ate alone. Carmilla lay on her back on the floor of the parlor in an attitude of perfect repose. 

“No,” Carmilla said, cracking one eye open. “I do believe in nature, in all its forms. You can’t imagine how pleased I was when to hear about evolution and the Big Bang. I wonder how some of people I used to know would’ve taken it! What about you, Laura?” 

“Isn’t it odd that they don’t know about those things? Neither idea is very new.” 

Carmilla rolled over, her dark hair spilling into her face before she brushed it off with a flick of her hand. She gave Laura a flashing grin. “Oh, they live in past, you see. Nevermind.” 

“You never talk about your mother, Carmilla. Have you heard from her at all, recently?” 

“No. But the nature of her work is such that she cannot always find time to contact me. I can’t speak more about her without violating the promises I made to her -- she is my mother, after all. But enough about me, Laura. You haven’t answered my question.” 

“I’m not particularly religious,” Laura said, putting down her sandwich. “I suppose my father is at least nominally Anglican, still, and my mother was…” She paused, hesitant to speak of her mother to Carmilla, who looked interested. 

“Isn’t it strange that you should look so much like the Countess!” Laura said instead. Carmilla shrugged. 

“I have one of those kind of faces,” Carmilla said languidly, pulling her head back down into her hands. 

“Oh yes. I see what you mean, you’re a dime a dozen,” Laura said.

Carmilla lifted up her face and made a wry face. “Can we go out? I’m bored.”

* * *

The thing was that Laura had never had a lover before Carmilla. That wasn’t a coincidence, of course. She hardly had any friends before Carmilla, but that was all right. She had Ben and her books. She wasn’t lonely. 

Then came Carmilla, slouching into Laura’s life, turning everything upside down. Carmilla, who had no plans for the future, who looked faintly puzzled when Ben asked her about what colleges she had applied to, before flashing her white, white teeth before murmuring, “I’ll go to whichever will have me, I suppose.” 

Carmilla smoked in bed and never volunteered to help with chores. She drifted downstairs after noon and spent most of the day propping things up, looking sleepy or distracted, and beautifully so. As the day progressed and turned into night, she came alive. After the first night, Laura waited impatiently in bed, waiting for her to come. She didn’t, and didn’t the night after, and the night after that. In the afternoons, when she would come down, Carmilla was a warm, if lazy friend. Laura began to convince herself that the kiss had been a fluke, that Carmilla had changed her mind. 

That changed after the night Carmilla, by way of soft sighs and longing looks, convinced Laura to work on Ben until he gave up the car keys without a murmur of protest. Except -- “Call me if you’re get into trouble -- no questions asked, okay?” 

“Nothing’s going to happen,” Laura said, kissing the top of Ben’s head before being pulled to the door by Carmilla. “Nothing happens here.”

Later, in the car, Laura turned to Carmilla and said, “Seriously, there’s nothing to do here.” 

Carmilla, who was draped on to the passenger side seat like a mannequin stuffed with sand, raised a languid hand upwards, holding on to a small piece of paper. On it was scrawled an address, one of the new exburbs about twenty miles from the castle. 

Laura squinted at it anxiously. “Is this a high school party? I think we might be a little too old to go there.” 

“We’re women of the world, darling, what could be more enlightening than that?” 

As they were driving down the rural road to get to the highway, they stopped at a red stop light. A hearse, loading with white flowers, went past. There was long pause before the next car went past -- Carmilla made an impatient noise and reached over and pushed the car horn several times. 

“Carmilla, stop that,” Laura said. 

“These things take _forever_ ,” Carmilla said, sinking back into her seat. They didn’t speak again until the funeral procession had passed. Laura had gotten thoroughly lost, despite the GPS, and pulled over to a gas station to reprogram it. Carmila disappeared for a few minutes before coming back with a plastic bag wrapped around her wrist. She got into the car and stretched, propping her her legs on the dashboard. 

“You know how to get there?” Carmilla asked, barely stifling a yawn. 

“I think so,” Laura said. The address went to one the big houses at the edge of town, the ones that stood largely empty after the housing crisis. 

“Wait, let me fix you up a bit,” Carmilla said, reaching into her plastic bag. 

“You bought makeup at an Amoco station?” 

“No, I took them of -- nevermind, hold still,” Carmilla said, before she captured Laura’s chin. Her grip was strong, Laura didn’t think she could have pulled away if she wanted to. She wasn’t sure that she did, looking directly into Carmilla’s eyes was almost hypnotic, even when she let Laura. 

“I don’t have very much to work with,” Carmilla murmured, “so you will have to trust me, my dear.” 

Laura had already put on some makeup before going out. Carmilla reapplied foundation in certain spots, and then in others. Then she got out a tube of lipstick from somewhere and carefully applied on Laura’s lips. The color was dark red, almost purple in the evening light. Laura pressed her lips together experimentally and asked if she could see herself. 

“Not yet,” Carmilla said lightly, moving the overhead light to shine directly on Laura’s face. Laura sat perfectly still and tried not to blink. 

“Close your eyes,” Carmilla said, and Laura obeyed. She felt a brief touch on her lips and then light strokes against the delicate skin of her eyelids. The liquid of the eyeliner was unexpectedly cool and Laura stifled a soft gasp. 

“Hold on,” Carmilla said. “Open your eyes and look at me. Don’t blink.” 

Laura did so, and wondered why her heart was racing so fast. 

Carmilla applied the mascara and then blew gently on Laura’s lashes. “Beautiful,” she said, looking extremely pleased with herself. Laura felt her face grow red and looked at herself on the rearview mirror. She didn’t look that different than before, but maybe -- a little better. 

She gave Carmilla a quick look. “What about you?” 

Carmilla shrugged modestly. “I’ll get by.” And then at Laura’s exasperated look, she shrugged. “It irritates my skin.” Carmilla’s complexion was, of course, perfect. She had no acne scars and her pores were so small as to be invisible. 

“Unreal,” Laura said, starting the car back up. 

There was a big for-sale sign on the lawn where the party was being held. The house was brilliantly lit up while the rest of the neighborhood was dark. A burly-looking man in a leather jacket blocked the door. “Pass?” he growled at them, and Carmilla waved the scrap of paper in front of his eyes. 

He eyed her suspiciously, but swung open the door. Carmilla went in, but he held up a hand at Laura. “No strangers,” he said. Carmilla gave him one of her toothy grins. 

“She’s my guest,” she said coolly, and it seemed like the man’s muscles drained into water. Laura pushed past him and went to Carmilla, who put an arm around her waist with a loud sigh. 

The music, which could be heard from the street, was loud and pulsing and vaguely familiar. People drifted to and fro, wearing different kind of masks. Those were arrayed on a marble-topped table in the foyer. Carmilla held up a ski-mask for Laura’s approval. Laura shook her head and took a black feathered mask out of the pile to give it to her. Carmilla accepted it graciously, and offered an identical mask to Laura, but this time in white. They went off to explore the rest of the house, arm in arm. 

Carmilla seemed to know more than a few people here, which was strange, since she and her mother had been just passing through here. There were some who seemed like her -- beautiful and inclined to drape themselves against any vertical surface. They seemed to congregate around shadows and were sometimes difficult to see -- but still, they seemed well attended by others, all eager for their attention.

One detached himself from the corner and gave a long whistle, which attracted their attention. He was a dramatic-looking man with one shoulder slightly higher than the other. There was a pallor to his cheeks, as if he was wearing makeup a shade too light. “Cally,” he said with a yawn, putting a heavy hand on Carmilla’s shoulder. “Long time, no see. I heard you’ve been had.” 

Carmilla delicately picked his hand off her shoulder and let drop. “It’s Carmilla, actually. And I’m the same as I ever was, Marcus.” 

“I’d say.” Marcus gave Laura a long, critical look. “You’re running true to type, it seems. Maybe this one‘s interested.” 

Carmilla’s smile was more like sharp bared teeth than anything else, and Laura began nudging her towards the stairs. “I’ll see you later, Marcus,” she hissed and he laughed, as a pale young man approached him. 

“I’ll be sharpening my points, Mircalla! You do the same! We’ll duel at dawn!” 

Laura led Carmilla away, up the stairs and down the hall, into the first empty room. She closed the door behind her and locked it, thinking all the while that it was a stupid thing to do. When she turned her attention back to Carmilla had peeled away her mask and let it drop to the ground. She still looked livid, her eyes burning holes into the wood behind Laura’s head. 

Laura took off her mask as well and breathed in deeply. It was now or never. She had been holding on to it for too long. “He called you Mircalla. Why?” 

Carmilla straightened up and looked her. “Well,” she said calmly, “that’s my name.” 

“Mircalla, the Countess of Karnstein. Doctor Hesselius’ papers were about you.” 

Carmilla gave Laura a bright, toothy grin. “Well, you know, he left some important details out. But that wasn’t quite his fault, nor was it Laura’s -- the first one, I mean. How did you get a hold of Hesselius’ papers?” 

Laura shifted from one foot to another. “Maybe it’s time to branch out when it comes to aliases. Anagrams are a bit old-fashioned.” 

Carmilla took a step towards her. She no longer looked angry -- but rather, amused. “What do they say about old dogs? I’ve had enough changes in my life. Hershel must’ve gotten a hold of it somehow. He was smarter than I gave him credit for.” 

“Hershel was …?” 

“You know,” Carmilla said, with an impatient wave of her hand. “The idiot who dragged the castle over here. I only wanted him to buy the place, not place it in the middle of nowhere -- no offense.” 

Laura bit her lip and felt the blood rush to her face. Carmilla’s face looked thinner, more hollowed out than she had ever seen it. She did look like she could be three hundred years or more -- though a remarkably preserved three-hundred and thirty. 

“So,” Laura said as casually as she could manage, “Are you going to kill me now?” 

Carmilla caressed Laura’s cheek, her expression distant. “Do you want me to?” 

“Who wants to die?” Laura’s voice was softer than she intended and her arms were loose against her sides. 

“If you died, you could be with me forever, or you can die and be a part of me forever, your choice,” Carmilla said, leaning in. Her soft and heavy hair blocked the expression in her eyes; she seemed to rest for a moment against Laura’s shoulders. 

“I am very tired,” she said, after a moment. “Perhaps I do want to die.” 

“Bullshit,” Laura said. 

Carmila smiled. “You can be so much fun, Laura.” She leaned in and kissed Laura. It stung, that kiss, it was as cruel as Laura knew now that Carmilla could be, that she always was. Her slim fingers pressed against the tender points of Laura’s neck. 

“I won’t, not unless you ask me to,” Carmilla whispered in her ear. “I’ve learned that, at least.” 

“Carmilla, you can --” Laura hesitated for a moment and wetted her lip for moment. It seemed wrong to call her Mircalla at this point. She could only see her as Carmilla now. Carmilla drew back and looked almost suspicious, as if she was getting something long-hoped for and given-up on. 

“No, I don’t mean you can kill me -- please don’t --” 

Carmilla sighed loudly. 

“But--” Laura screwed up her courage and did something that she knew already would be a terrible mistake. She kissed Carmilla, who made a pleased noise and pressed her body against Laura’s. 

The house must have been a model home, because it was furnished, if somewhat sparsely. There was a bed in the middle of room, which they both stumbled towards and pushed each other against. 

“Oof!” Laura gasped as she was pushed against the hard mattress, with Carmilla grinding on top of her. 

“You okay?” Carmilla said, her eyes hazy and her hands pushed up underneath Laura’s shirt. 

“Fine,” Laura said as Carmilla dove back, her lips pressing kisses against Laura’s throat, her hands cupping her breasts. Laura opened her mouth to speak, but the words got lost in the jumble of moans and gasps until she was free again to say, “Carmilla, Carmilla, give me more. Please.” 

“I want to,” Carmilla said, her voice harsh and yet somehow still sweet. “I want to do it all with you. Will you let me?” 

“I don’t know -- I have to think about it--” Laura stammered, and reached out and touched Carmilla’s face, which was flushed with warmth. She closed her eyes for a moment and leaned into the palm of Laura’s hand. Laura pulled herself halfway up and they began to kiss again when -- police sirens blared and someone downstairs cut the music with a bump. 

They stared at each other for a minute before scrambling up and getting dressed. They left the masks where they had fallen. Carmilla stopped Laura from opening the door and gestured to the large window that overlooked the backyard. Laura looked out of the window and saw a narrow ledge that ran to the sloping roof of the kitchen. “I’m not sure about this,” she began to say before Carmilla took a step back. 

She looked very proud of herself. “Ask me what else I can do.” 

“What else can you … Oh, I see. You can turn into a giant cat.” Laura got up from bed and followed Carmilla, the giant cat, towards the window. She looked a little doubtfully at Carmila’s big paws before knocking out the mosquito net from the window. The night air rushed in from the open window and ruffled Carmilla’s fur, which was long and silky, dark brown with streaks of gold. On impulse, Laura gathered two handfuls of it and swung on to the cat’s back. She felt the muscles underneath her bunch together and then release as they fell headlong through the air.

They never seemed to reach the ground. Instead, Carmilla bounded through the air, the trees whipping past them, the mist wetting their faces. Laura closed her eyes for a moment and told herself that this was only a dream. 

The night passed, dream-like, memories of it fading as quickly as they were formed. But Laura could remember a few things -- she watched calmly as Carmilla transformed back into the shape of a girl, stumbling back to where the car was parked. She was not, quite, in a condition to drive and Carmilla said, with a flash of sharp, white teeth, that she had never learned. 

The night was deceptively mild for winter and Carmilla was just as warm as the living. Carmilla’s kisses were sharp and her touch, addictive. Laura sighed as she lay back against the seat and closed her eyes. 

“Laura, let me do this,” said Carmilla, her lips pressing briefly against Laura’s neck. 

“Oh, all right,” Laura said and immediately, she felt two stings against her neck, the pain of which flared briefly before mellowing out into almost unbearable pleasure. 

*****

The next morning, Laura woke up sprawled in the back-seat of her car. Thank god for global warming, she thought, wrapping her inadequate sweater around her. She frowned, seeing that it was covered in cat-fur. She sneezed and felt miserable.

* * *

Carmilla, of course, was gone, and did not appear even when Laura went home. Her things were still in her room, but she was simply not there. Ben worried, wondered if he should make a police report. Laura advised against it, but most she was too busy coughing to say anything.

So, she had not been left unscathed from last night’s adventure. Exiled to her bed, Laura found herself thinking about many things. About Beth, for one, sadly forgotten before, and about repressed memories. Carmilla had said, once, that remembering her past was like looking through curtain of falling water. Every memory was muted, distorted in shape. 

Laura’s fever grew worse. It was as if she was burning from the inside out, and water became steam, leaving behind the residue of a new memory. People came in and out of her room, talking in quiet voices. Ben, her doctor, the nurse appeared again and again. She kept quiet and listened. The voices grew louder, forgetting sometimes that she was there. 

There was talk of moving her to the hospital. But in the end, another nurse was hired instead, a soft-looking young woman with gentle hands. Nurse La Fountaine wore a perfume that made Laura stir from her apathetic state and look at her. 

Nurse La Fountaine smiled. “Hello, Laura. Do you feel well enough to have a visitor?” 

Laura sat up and said, “I don’t need to be coddled. Who is it?” 

Nurse La Fountaine’s smile slipped a little from her face. Her voice was perceptibly cooler when she said, “A friend of your father’s, I think. He arrived this morning and had an argument with your doctor. He has some very strange ideas about the nature of your illness.” 

“Send him in,” Laura said, looking away to the window. It was still light outside -- the bright cool sunlight of a winter’s day. There was a knock on the door, and Nurse La Fountaine opened it and greeted the visitors. 

Laura recognized General Spielsdorf from Beth’s photos, of course. Though in the last few months, he seemed to have aged a decade or so, and his once salt-and-pepper hair was now entirely white. There was something in his fever-bright eyes that Laura recognized. 

Ben came up behind him, still protesting. “Really, Laurenz, I appreciate all that you’ve done for Laura and I, but your theories are not -- cannot be --” 

“You’re here to tell me what happened to Beth,” Laura said, looking at the General. “Please tell me.” 

“I will,” the General said. He told his story simply, using as few adjectives as possible. It was clear that he had loved Beth a great deal and that he had not -- perhaps would never -- recover from her loss. His story did not surprise Laura, though it did her father; neither did the possible identities of the mysterious Millarca and her irresponsible, clandestine mother. 

There was only one thing -- “You say Beth became sick almost immediately after the dance? And she died in a matter of days?” 

“Yes.” 

“But my -- Carmilla has been here for months…” Laura said, leaning back against her pillow. Someone rang the doorbell downstairs. Nurse La Fountaine’s sensible heels clicked down the hallway. 

“Yes?” she said, as she opened the door. “May I help you?” 

Laura heard Carmilla’s well-remembered voice, though she could not make out what was being said. She got up from her bed, pushing aside the blankets. The General recognized it too, and he was quicker. Before Laura reached the head of the stairs, the General and Carmilla’s second meeting had taken place. 

At first glance, it seemed that both had gone insane. Carmilla’s beautiful face was transformed with rage and The General took out a pistol and aimed it for for her head. “What are you doing? General!” Ben shouted. The General pulled the trigger and Nurse La Fountaine screamed. Carmilla, of course, made her exit. 

“Call Vordenburg immediately,” the General barked, as the dust cleared. 

It was at that exact moment when Laura chose to faint dead away into her father’s arms. 

*****

When Laura opened her eyes again, she was not quite certain that she was awake. It was bitterly cold in the room and the sky outside the window was grey -- except for a crack of gold, leaking light through. Her skin felt hot, too hot. She longed to pull the sweater over her head and throw it across the room, but instead she wrapped it around herself like meager armor. She heard a rustle of bedclothes and a long sigh. 

Carmilla sat on the end of her bed, still wearing the clothes she had gone out in. The front of her white shirt was marked with blood, fresh and red. She smiled when she saw Laura was looking at her. “Hello, darling.” 

Laura watched her for a few moments before she said, “Did you kill Beth?” 

“Oh,” Carmilla said disappointedly. “Are you going back to that? I’ve killed a lot of people. Most of them didn’t matter -- they were little people with little lives, and if I happened to shorten those a bit, well, so what?” 

“ _So what_ \--” 

Carmilla’s hand pressed against Laura’s mouth. 

“Spare me,” she purred. 

“How did you become like this?” Laura asked, once Carmilla had moved her hand away. 

“I remember only a little from my old life. Bits and pieces. My mother was very particular. She wished me to marry this man -- a baron -- who I couldn’t stand. Though it is thanks to him that I continue on in this… state.” Carmilla smiled, remembering Baron Vordenburg. 

Softly, she said, “I was an innocent once too, you know. I believed someone when they said they loved me, but that love was my death.” She touched her neck and a momentary expression of sorrow passed over her lovely face.

“So I should feel sorry for you, is that it?” 

“I don’t want your pity, Laura, only your love.” Carmilla was reaching towards her but Laura pulled away. 

“It was you I saw after accident. You killed my mother,” she said and Carmilla rolled her eyes. 

“I didn’t _kill_ her, a tree did that,” Carmilla said, her eyes wide and innocent. “She was of my blood and so are you. You belong to me, blood calls for blood.” She reached for Laura, who roughly straddled her. Carmilla’s nails were long and sharp as she traced one down the vulnerable curve Laura’s neck. 

“General Spielsdorf wants to kill you for what you did.” 

“Many men like him have tried to kill me, and they have always failed.” She shook her beautiful head sadly. “As if one half-mad girl covered in blood could not be substituted for another.” 

Laura turned her face away from Carmilla.

“Go away,” she said, “You’re a cold-blooded murderer and I never want to see you again.” 

“But you knew that already, and loved me anyway,” Carmilla said. “I won’t bore you with saying how much we are alike. You know it already.” And lower, against Laura’s unwilling ear, “And you will live with that, my darling, until you seek me again.” 

“I won’t,” Laura said, gritting her teeth. It took all her strength not to turn around and do -- something. _Anything._ To kill Carmilla, to keep her. To beg Carmilla to take her along, to turn Laura into -- what she was.

Carmilla only said, “Goodnight, Laura.” 

And then she was gone.

* * *

Laura recovered from her illness rapidly after that. She was up and walking within a few days, and in a week, she was thinking of the universities she could go to -- in crowded, loud places, full of people and life. While she recovered, however, the castle itself grew into a den of activity. 

Vordenburg had arrived, quite late. He was surprisingly young, a fair-haired man in his mid-thirties at the latest. He had inherited the castle from his father -- the Vordenburgs’ had kept their enduring interest in the Karnsteins, and especially the Countess Mircalla. 

Although… 

“It’s true that my honorable ancestors were not always _quite_ honest when it to that subject,” he admitted with a shrug. The General hit him with a venomous look that would have stunned anyone, but Vordenburg was quite unaffected.

As she recovered her strength, Laura began to take more of an interest in the proceedings. She learn that Vordenburg knew nothing about concrete about vampire-hunting. What little insight he could provide came from the blueprints he had of the castle, dating from a century ago. 

The madness of the hunt overtook him as well, and the General, Ben and Vordenburg spent the rest of the spring and summer trying to find the location of the vampire Mircalla’s tomb. 

It was an expedition entirely without success. 

Reluctantly and ashamed of her own reluctance, Laura showed them the papers she had found hidden in her study. The General took to the story at once. He was determined to follow the shade of Carmilla to the ends of the Earth, if necessary. He left the castle without warning, taking Vordenburg with him. 

Laura had her own ideas of what Carmilla was up to now. Reading between the lines the narrative, she could not help but feel that the account of Carmilla’s second death was suspicious at best. The first Laura had not witnessed anything herself. Everything had been reported to her, filtered through by men who had not wished to distress her. 

Even so, in the present day, Laura read the part of Carmilla’s beheading and felt sick. Yes, it would have been very easy for Carmilla to overpower an unlucky woman, and put her in the tomb where, she knew, that it would be discovered in very short order. And underneath the blood and gore, who could tell? 

Another victim, another life spent to prolong Carmilla’s already long existence. 

And then, barely seventy years later, Carmilla revived herself again, claiming her title and her castle, only to die again. Again and again, always young, always lovely… 

Laura shook her head sharply. She knew well enough that because of her feelings for Carmilla, she felt culpable in ways she couldn’t express, and in the ways that she could. Carmilla was all that they said she was -- a murderer, a false friend -- and yet Laura loved her still. Wretchedly, she resigned herself to always doing so. 

Her father had, after the General had left, approached her tentatively about her perhaps getting away. Laura recognized the way he looked at her -- half-fearfully and half-tenderly. He was afraid that he would lose her (again), and yet happy that he hadn’t (yet). They were not, exactly, hugging people, but still, when he had come in with a cup of tea for her, she nearly knocked him off his feet. 

“Whoa there!” Ben said. “Are you all right?”

“I’m good,” Laura said smiling. Ben smiled back before turning to leave. But before he went away again, he asked her if she wanted to get away for a while. 

“Where to?” 

“Somewhere very warm and very different than here -- Italy, maybe?” 

“Well,” Laura said, laughing for the first time, it felt, in weeks, “Who would say no to that?” 

After Ben had left, Laura finished the tea he had brought, and tried to think of warm thoughts about the future.

* * *

Laura stared at the blank Word document in front of her. She had virtuously closed all of her browser tabs an hour ago, determined to make some progress on her work. Her work was simple, on the face of it. She was to write down her memories and impressions of this time, ten years ago. The time of Carmilla -- Millarca. Idly, she remembered what the first Laura had written in her account, more than a hundred years ago. 

_The vampire, on its expulsion from its undead body, would soon be projected into a far more horrible life…_

Laura wrapped a finger around her long braid of hair thoughtfully. It felt as if she was writing about a different person than who she was now. The differences between nineteen and twenty-nine were vast. 

She had been such a strange and lonely girl! She was still rather a strange woman -- Zoë had described her once as otherworldly -- and then had kissed her, much to Laura’s pleasure. “Not a bad thing,” Zoë had said. Laura smiled, thinking back to it. 

She wasn’t lonely, not in the least. There was an unopened letter from Ben on her desk, her reward for writing today -- and emails to reply to -- phone-calls to make -- Laura shook her head sharply, reminding herself not to transform expectation into stress.

She turned her attention back to the screen. She hadn’t written anything for half-an-hour and the story stubbornly refused to write itself. Laura sighed and leaned back into her chair, which creaked alarmingly. It was a bright day, despite the cold and the sunlight playing across the ceiling. 

When she looked down again, small furry head imposed itself between herself and the screen. Zoë’s cat was a Russian Blue who had only recently grown out of kittenhood. He clawed at Laura’s sweater and looked her appealingly with large, amber-colored eyes. 

“Do you want food? Water? Air? Speak to me, Fanu.” 

The cat merely looked at her, his ears twitching. Laura picked him and headed toward to the kitchen. But Fanu began to yowl softly, turning his body toward the balcony door. “All right, all right,” Laura groused. She had a difficult time navigating both the glass door and the cat, but eventually Fanu was deposited outside, where he immediately began to scratch fruitlessly against the door, demanding to be let in.

“Oh, for God’s sake--” Laura said, exasperatedly, opening the door again. Fanu streaked past her legs and she heard the rattle of a key in the lock of the front door. 

It opened, creaking a little, and Zoë called out cheerfully, “Laura? Are you there? I’ve brought Chinese!” 

“Yes, I’m here. Your silly cat can’t decide if he wants to go out or stay in --” 

“Oh, let him wander a bit,” Zoë said, going to the kitchen. 

Laura turned back to close the door when suddenly a strong gust of wind tore through the filmy white curtains and wrenched the handle from her hand. For a moment only, it felt as if a silken hand caressed her face, and light, airy voice whispered in her ear. Gritting her teeth, Laura pushed back against the door and closed it with a thump. Then she turned back and went to the kitchen to see what Zoë had brought back.

**Author's Note:**

> May I present -- [castles in the sky.](http://www.metmuseum.org/about-the-museum/now-at-the-met/features/2013/castles-in-the-sky) Though, of course, I set it elsewhere because other parts of the country deserve vampire-haunted castles as well. 
> 
> [Anagrams of the name Carmilla](http://www.wordsmith.org/anagram/anagram.cgi?anagram=Carmilla&t=1000&a=n). 
> 
> Thank you to my beta, Elleth, who deserves all the praise.
> 
> [Listen to the playlist inspired by this fic (and the novel too -- of course!)](http://fauves.co/post/149821997108/strange-agonies-and-to-this-hour-the-image-of)


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